Valentine's Day
by selmak
Summary: Phil Coulson, Jemma Simmons, Valentine's Day -


Coulson is an agent of SHIELD. He is not a spy, he is an agent, a handler, which means he did not sneak around. No, sneaking is Natasha's job, but if someone is talking loud enough for him to overhear, well, he'll take advantage of the intel.

"So," Skye teases Jemma. "Valentine's day is two days from now, what do you have planned? Or he is being secretive? I mean, we're in New York tomorrow, so he must have something planned."

Simmons shakes her head, "Not really anticipating anything. After being captured by Centipede, he's been… very inward. He's not comfortable with me touching him, so I've backed off."

"That means…" Skye prompts.

"That he needs time to recover, and I'm giving it to him," Simmons announces. "And how about… JASPER?"

The tide turned against the Rising Tide hacker, Coulson decides it is time to escape to his office, where he realizes again that Valentine's Day was on the horizon. Simmons is correct, as always, as since what happened, what Fury had done to him had been revealed, he hasn't been easy with too much intimacy.

Didn't mean that he didn't want it, he just isn't comfortable with initiating or receiving.

Oh, Lord, he needs help.

* * *

The next morning, Jemma finds an envelope on the floor of her POD. To her surprise, it isn't an envelope but a rather intricately folded piece of parchment. Each time she unfolds a leaf, there is a new line of poetry.

_Of everything I have seen,  
it's you I want to go on seeing:  
of everything I've touched,  
it's your flesh I want to go on touching.  
I love your orange laughter.  
I am moved by the sight of you sleeping._

_Where is she? I keep on asking  
if your eyes disappear.  
How long she's taking! I think, and I'm hurt.  
I feel poor, foolish and sad,  
and you arrive and you are lightning  
glancing off the peach trees. ~ Pablo Neruda_

_Be my Valentine?_

_p_

Jemma refolds it and smiles.

"He remembered," she whispers even while she happily smiles.

* * *

Coulson enters the labs and Fitz nods once before heading off so Simmons and Coulson can have some privacy. Simmons is busy sciencing, so Phil sits on a high stool and stretches his leg. His ankle still pains him at times.

"Yes," she says, without looking up. "I'll be your Valentine, if you'll be mine."

"Sorry I've been busy screwing my head on straight," Phil quips. "Since they took a bit off the top, I've never sure if it's tight enough. I worry that if I take a corner too fast, my brains will leak out of my head."

She shakes her head and his smile is crooked.

"I know I'm rather last minute, but do you have any plans for tonight and tomorrow?" He asks. "If you have nothing better to do, you can come to my place? Bring your cute little jimjams with the bunnies as I have a spare bedroom."

He refuses to cajole or sweet-talk Simmons into his bed as it's been several months since their last 'date' and what a cluster fuck that had been. No, he's planning on a nice low-key evening, with no guns being brandished by an ex-wife, and no broken bones. NONE.

"I do not have any pyjamas with bunnies," protests Simmons.

"Ok, the dark green plaid ones, the soft, fuzzy ones, as it will be snowing in New York, and we can watch old Dr. Who and eat ice cream," he offers. "I'll make dinner."

"Dr. Who and Ice cream, you really know how to show a girl a good time," Simmons teases.

"It's what you like to do in your free time, so…" he offers. "Last time, I got to take you dancing. This time, you have to explain to me why a rolling card box with a multitude of light bulbs who brandishes a plunger is just so terrifying."

"You don't like Dr. Who," protests Jemma. The Dr. Who Appreciation Nights on the Bus had often found a perplexed Coulson tapping away on his Stark Pad searching Wikipedia.

"Explain it to me, and I might," is his rebuttal. "You weren't sure if you'd like jazz and champagne. I have managed to procure copies of the classics, including the 'Web of Fear'."

"It's the first appearance of Nicholas Courtney," she bubbles and Coulson just shakes his head. "I had such a crush on Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart."

"Should I be jealous?" Coulson asks.

"It could explain my obsession with older authority figures," she admits even while Coulson decides it's time to escape.

Dear God, she didn't just chirp that he looks so cute when he blushes? He was the team lead, he needs to maintain some sort of decorum.

* * *

There are thick, fluffy snowflakes falling by the time she reaches Coulson's apartment. He opens the door on her first knock and she slips in. She's not sure how to greet him, as he's been rather jittery about any type of physical contact since Reina, so she decides a buzz on the cheek is out. She regrets his physical reticence as she had really enjoyed snogging and sexing.

"Hi," she whispers.

"Hi," he offers. To her delight, he leans down and places a quick kiss on her cheek. "Thank you for coming over. We don't really get a chance to talk when we're on the Bus. Let me show you where to put your stuff."

It's obviously the spare bedroom, and there is a neatly wrapped box on the bed.

"It's for you," he says.

"This is for you," is her response, as she hands him a thin envelope.

"Open it," they both exclaim at the same time.

"You first," he orders.

There is a multicolored silk scarf and a book of poems by Pablo Neruda. There are several brightly pieces of paper sticking out of it and she quirks an eyebrow.

"I marked a couple that make me think of you," he admits.

"It's wonderful, and the scarf is so pretty. Thank you, now open yours. I hope you like it."

Phil smiles and nods. He opens the envelope and he's silent when he realizes what it is. He doesn't say anything but his hands are trembling and his face is crunched.

"Do you like it?" she asks.

"It's a mint Captain American variant card," he whispers. "There's maybe a dozen of these out there, and this is **_mint_**. I got mine from my father, and my set was destroyed in the Battle of New York. How?"

"Not admitting anything," she teases.

"You're better than I deserve," he admits.

"Keep remembering that and we'll get along just fine," she happily quips. "Now, you promised me dinner, and a Doctor Who marathon. And I want cuddling. But only if you're comfortable with cuddling. And….if it's alright with you, I want to…."

She pulls his head down to her level and she whispers something very naughty indeed.

"Does that explain why Skye put a dozen plantains on the shopping list?" A blushing Coulson gasps.

"I wanted to practice," she explains. "I want your review on my skills to be better than I'm clueless but enthusiastic."

And Coulson smiles.


End file.
